THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN REVISED. IT CONTAINS PARTS OF OLD CHAPTER SIX AND SEVEN. Reviews left prior to April 25, 2021 may not make sense. I did this in an attempt to correct for a feeling that the plot was dragging thanks to the short chapters. This does mean that some later chapters were removed, including their reviews. I apologize for the inconvenience.

NOTHING SUBSTANTIVE HAS CHANGED. In very rare cases I adjusted chapter transitions.

Chapter Five: 01010011 01110101 01101110 01101100 01101001 01100111 01101000 01110100

Over the course of the next few days, Emory, Yinsen, and Stark collect palladium from the missiles they take apart. She's good at unscrewing the tail pieces without having to move the missile, if it's hanging over the edge of the table a bit. It doesn't hurt her back, as she doesn't have to lean over quite as far as they would. Stark says he likes that the deconstruction leaves quite a few pieces lying around, innards of the missiles, housings, various parts, all of which look like he's actually working on what he's supposed to.

He… won't tell either of them what he's actually doing, though. Stark has implied more than once that whatever it is will result in him being freed from having to carry around the battery, but Emory can't imagine what that could possibly be.

Though, if he's collecting palladium, he's probably right. Emory doesn't know anything about engineering or physics, but it sounds like a scary enough material that could be used to power something.

Today Yinsen is using their cooking and heating fire to warm up a smelting cup with the palladium flakes inside it. He's clearly done something to make it stronger than usual, because it's warm in the cave. Stark's down to the white shirt she'd given him, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. She's sitting at their dining table with Childhood's End, but she's really watching Stark.

He's got a bowl with some sort of thick, loamy material in it, and he's packing a smaller bowl with the stuff. The way the muscles of his arms move and the precise gestures of his hands have her captivated. Hands are her secret weakness, and Emory had managed to avoid thinking about Stark's hands mostly because he'd been wearing fingerless gloves so often. Today, though, he's bunching them in the sand, pressing some into a smaller bowl with his palms, holding a measuring device steady and tapping it to sink down and make an impression. He is making an impression. On her. Emory tries in vain to remember where she was in her book, but it's hopeless.

The best she can do is firmly instruct herself to avoid picturing him touching her.

Yinsen signals that he's ready to pour the palladium, and Stark hovers nearby, not close enough to bump him.

"Careful. We only get one shot at this," he says, the battery held over his shoulder and out of the way.

"Relax, I have steady hands. Why do you think you're still alive, huh?"

Yinsen pours the molten palladium with the steady hands he promised, and Stark looks visibly relieved when he lifts the smelting cup again. As soon as Yinsen sets the cup down near the fire to cool, though, there's a noise at the door.

Stark grabs his beanie and arranges it over the bowl, covering their day's work.

The bearded terrorist comes into the room with a lot more energy than normal, and with far less enthusiasm. He seems very upset, and he's carrying a magazine. Accompanying him are ten men with machine guns. Emory sucks in a breath, full of fear and comprehension: this is it. He knows she's not Rory.

Sure enough, he holds up the magazine and snaps something angrily at Yinsen.

"He says you are not the woman in the picture," Yinsen says, his voice shaking slightly.

"Can I see it?" she asks. She has to repeat herself, because the first words come out so quiet and choked that Yinsen shakes his head, uncomprehending. Out of the corner of her eye, Emory sees Stark grab his battery and come to stand a few feet behind her.

The terrorist shakes the magazine and stomps over, thrusting it towards her. He points with a pudgy finger at a picture of Rory at a gala event five months before. She's obviously a different person from Emory, not just because of height, but body shape and facial features. There's no fudging her identity. Emory examines the picture, hoping for some kind of reprieve. In the back of the image, behind Rory, she recognizes the dress she had been wearing to the event.

"I'm in this picture," she says. Behind her, Stark lets out a small grunt.

8888888888

There's nothing he can do. Tony holds the battery with one finger at his side and watches as Autumn points to something he can't see in the image their captor is holding out. Her attitude is bound to make the man more angry, and he lets out a small sound in warning.

He's running through options in his mind and coming up with completely nothing. The very best he could do is threaten to set off the missiles, but that would likely save no one and result in all three of their deaths, with the possible 'upside' that some of the terrorists may also die. With the stacked up missiles, Tony wouldn't be able to dodge around to take the main guy hostage, but Yinsen has already said that there's a separate leader from the spokesman they've interacted with so often.

They'd probably just write the guy off and shoot everyone.

"I grew up with Rory. We're close. She would pay a ransom to get me back. Just because I'm not Rory Fall doesn't mean I'm not valuable!" Autumn is saying, now.

Yinsen's tone as he translates is placating but desperate. The look on the terrorist's face is not encouraging.

"He says you are not worth the cost of food," Yinsen says, his tone impersonal but his expression frightened.

"So give me a hunk of bread and a water bottle and set me loose," she argues, holding her clasped hands in front of her, begging. "No one will bring an army to revenge itself for me even if I did survive, and chances are high I'll just die in the desert. There's no downside."

With a savage backhand, the terrorist hits her on the side of the head, and Autumn lands on her side on the floor in front of Tony. The suddenness of the violence is shocking. If he can't think of something, they're going to kill her. He drops the battery on the floor beside her and drags Autumn up against him, cradling her against his arm to keep her from pulling on the wires. She's shaking.

"Do not give orders to men," Yinsen translates, horror in his tone. The terrorist screams at Tony, and Tony meets his gaze unflinchingly. "This doesn't concern you, Stark," Yinsen adds. "Imagine your own insults, I don't wish to repeat them."

"It does concern me," Tony says, resting a gentle hand against Autumn's neck. Her whole body is trembling as he addresses the terrorist, trying to adopt an arrogant tone. She won't appreciate this very much if it works, but she'll be alive. "You want me to build your Jerico? Give her to me. I work better when I'm… relaxed," he says, shrugging with as much casual innuendo as he can.

Against him, Autumn's frozen still. He brushes his thumb against her neck just once, hoping she'll remember his hand squeeze outside in the sunlight and take courage.

Yinsen is frozen as well.

"Tell him," Tony orders. "It's what we've got. My reputation's good for something, who knew?"

Yinsen starts speaking. Tony holds his body completely rigid, projecting as much confidence and arrogance as he can. He looks down at Autumn, obviously and demonstrably ogling where his hand bunches up her shirt. The pants she's wearing hang low on her hips, revealing the bare skin of her lower back and just below. He raises his gaze back to the terrorist's, who is giving him a knowing look that Tony forces himself to smile in response to. There's a camaraderie there that makes him sick.

The man's face falls, and he speaks.

"How does he know you're not simply doing this to save her life?"

Tony drops his hand to Autumn's ass and pulls her tight to his hip. With one final gentle swipe of his thumb on her neck, he takes a handful of her hair and pulls, dragging her head back to look up at him. Her eyes are wild, frightened, hopeful. One of her hands is clutching a handful of his shirt material at his back.

"I'm a weapons manufacturer," Tony says, his eyes on Autumn. "I'm not known for my altruism. I am known for my women." He dips his head down and, holding her still with the hand gripping her hair, Tony kisses her roughly. It's for show, and he shows, forcing her mouth open and sweeping his tongue in. Autumn is clearly shocked, her hand coming up to rest on his chest, right on the magnet apparatus, before snatching it back.

He knows he needs to make it look real, his desire and her reluctance, to sell the farce that he's going to use her like he'd implied he would. The desire part is not a problem, as it turns out. She's warm, her lips lush, and her height accentuates her vulnerability to him, which is a turn-on for him, always has been. Tony likes being in charge, feeling powerful, and she's ticking all of those boxes. He angles the leg she's pinned against, pressing it between her legs in a way that the demon who's holding them captive can see. The kiss is filthy and wet, and when Tony sucks on her bottom lip to redden it, she lets out a whimper that everyone in the cave can hear.

When Tony lifts his head, Autumn sags against him, burying her face in his side, clearly mortified.

The terrorist mutters something and stomps toward the door, making a harsh gesture to the men with guns. He throws the magazine on the ground at Yinsen's feet.

"Very well. She's yours," Yinsen translates in a hoarse whisper.

The sound of the doors closing has a ring of terrible finality to it, as though Tony's made some kind of irrevocable choice. He probably has.

He loosens his grip on Autumn slowly, because she's clinging to him as if nothing else will support her weight.

"I panicked. All I could think of," he says.

Autumn lets out a shuddered breath. She pulls back just a bit, as if testing her strength, and then does the most amazing thing. With a gentle hand, she reaches up, looking at him, and wordlessly touches his face with her cupped hand.

Seconds later she turns and walks over to her cot, climbing up into it and drawing the blanket over her shoulders.

"Life is life," Yinsen observes quietly. "I could not think of what to do. Thank you."

"Don't," Tony says grimly. "I've just flipped a switch in their minds. A dangerous one."

"True," Yinsen says. "You'll need to be careful to maintain interest. Something tells me you won't have to worry about that, will you?"

Tony takes that moment to pick up his battery, rather than make any attempt at meeting Yinsen's eyes. The man is perceptive, and it wouldn't take much talent in reading people to see what is going on in Tony's mind. He probably can already tell.

Even under those circumstances, Tony had enjoyed that kiss. He would get to enjoy more of them, almost certainly. What kind of a person did that make him? It wasn't heroic, that was certain. Even if he had saved her life, the ratio of altruism to lust was disproportionate to the latter.

He walks over and carefully removes the beanie, knowing that it'll take longer to cool than he'd originally intended. Tony starts gathering up the wiring and vise he'll need to hold the whole apparatus while he solders the fucking hell out of it. There are a few things missing, and that's when he remembers.

They're under Autumn's cot.

Instead of disturbing her, he sits down and tries to clear his mind. Unfortunately, ever since she'd been asked to sing, Autumn's voice has been playing in his head on repeat, especially the part about the wind like her hands in his hair. The sound of her voice was a complete shock to his system, raspy and low, sultry and sweet. Tony's spent enough time in the LA party scene to understand why a recording company might have wanted to go with the tall, athletic, weak singer with charisma and stage presence over her shorter, more talented friend. It's a matter of marketing, but if it had been a matter of quality, Autumn would have been by far the superior choice.

Beyond what she sounded like was the impact of the lyrics. He doesn't think she chose the song to specifically target him, but they're damning enough, after their conversation about intimacy. Tony's never been in a relationship longer than a few months at a time (they certainly weren't monogamous), and none of his brief flings with the odd cute barista or waitress have resulted in that feeling of cross-social strata longing described in the song. His arrangement with Pepper and JARVIS usually prevents any of those situations from escalating into something more anyway.

Since her comment about kissing, though, he had gone back over his mental black book, trying to pinpoint any of the women he might have considered candidates for that kind of long-term connection. Tony was forced to conclude that his attitude at the beginning of his time with most of the women informs his attitude about the longevity of their association.

He doesn't pick women that he wants to spend days kissing. Tony picks women to fuck.

Now, though, all he can think about is kissing Autumn. If he'd met her at some event and decided to try to coax her into bed, he would have been plotting what sort of sexual activities he'd engage with her- but now? Now there's a charade to perpetuate, a simulation to plan, and that means he can look forward to kissing her in a way he wouldn't have in his regular life.

The thing he secretly enjoys so much is now the only thing he can have, in good conscience, even though Tony shouldn't get to have anything, not in this cave, not with a woman who is almost certainly reluctant.

It's a mess, one he feels more than a little bit guilty for causing, despite the alternative. For one of the first times in Tony Stark's life, he feels shame in his selfishness. He can usually rationalize it away, but this time, even the fact that she could have died otherwise still doesn't feel like enough to balance this out. It's uncomfortable as fuck.

8888888888

The book is across the room, and Emory is afraid to move, even though it's very warm under the blanket. She doesn't want any more scrutiny, particularly not from Stark, right now.

He'd saved her. She was massively grateful. She was also conflicted. Tony Stark was exactly the sort of man she'd always been warned against. Selfish, narcissistic, pleasure-seeking. But he was also handsome, strong (an attribute she hadn't known she liked so much until he'd held her up when she was practically falling down, and hadn't even seemed like it was an effort), and his kiss had taken her apart. Her lips still burn from his facial hair and the force with which he'd demanded her response.

Emory can't help but admit to herself that she'd liked it. She groans with embarrassment, covering her face with her hands.

That tiny movement of his thumb to reassure her had touched her somewhere sweet and hidden, too. It had been kind, something she would never have pictured coming from the wealthy CEO.

What a mess!

She covers her head with the blanket and gets up, hoping to rush over to the table, get Yinsen's book, and rush back. When Emory grabs the book, though, she turns around and almost runs straight into Stark.

His expression is somber, but he flicks his eyes up toward the camera as he sets down the battery on the table. With a chastising look, Stark takes the blanket off of her completely, pulling her hair from where it was twisted up and tucked into her shirt in a bid to cool off earlier. With no idea how much she is affected by what he's doing, he runs his fingers through her hair multiple times, laying it out along her shoulders. Of course, she realizes. She's not supposed to let it be covered up.

Emory's already keyed up from her near-death experience and the half-traumatic discovery that she really likes this man's mouth on hers. So when he leans over as if to kiss her, she backs away, out of his reach. He's experienced. He'll be able to tell. She's not sure she could bear that.

"I can almost guarantee they're watching. If you resist, they'll expect me to demand more," he says in a near-whisper. "Unless you're doing it for the cameras?" Stark shoots his eyebrows up for a second, before pointing at the floor at his feet.

"Of course," Emory lies. She looks down as if contrite and walks back to him.

Stark lifts a handful of her hair and smells it. There's something so arresting about that action, something so intimate, that she steadies herself with a hand at the nearby table. It's for the cameras, she's sure, but it feels authentic enough to her.

"So are you really afraid, or just very good at faking?" he asks.

"Terrified," she whispers. She is. Emory is afraid he'll look at her and know she wants him, and he'll use it to judge her against every single woman he's ever slept with, every woman that begged him to use his hands on her.

Stark moves to stand just a breath away, his hand sliding into the hair at the nape of her neck. It's still a little sore from him yanking it not a half hour before. "There are ways of faking this, positions they use on film, but I don't know the angle of their cameras, and-"

"And you like kissing," she says with a tiny, wry smile, staring at the bulge on his chest from the magnet apparatus. Emory risks a quick glance up at his face to see his reaction. His brown eyes are dark with obvious desire, which jolts straight to her core. She hadn't expected that, despite her words.

"Not the unwilling," he says. He sounds upset.

"Is any woman truly unwilling when it comes to you?" she asks, hiding her shock at what she'd seen in his expression.

There's a scraping sound at the door that startles her, but when she startles and pulls back, Stark's hand stops her, wound as it is into her hair.

"Peephole," Yinsen says from where he's examining the smelting cup.

A voice shouts something in an unrecognizable language from outside the door, and the scraping sound recurs.

"I'm not repeating that," Yinsen says. He sounds scandalized.

Stark's looking at Yinsen, but Emory's slowly catching fire where she's standing there waiting for him to decide what to do with her. She feels like she's watching a musical where her favorite piece of music is a precursor to her favorite character's death, and the sweetness of the thing she's anticipating will be followed by something dreadful.

"Do it or let me go, Stark," Emory hisses at him.

"That's enough consent for me," he says, using his free hand to tip her head back with a rough hand at her chin. Stark slips his thumb up to pull her mouth open, letting go and tracing his tongue against where he'd pressed, scraping his teeth against it gently. Emory drifts toward him, unable to help herself. He's skilled and devastating as he chases her tongue with his to stroke it. Overcome, she grabs at his shirt to steady herself, and he lets go of her hair to catch her hand before she pulls on the wires. Without Stark's hand at the back of her head to stop her, Emory can tear herself away. She grabs the book she'd come for in the first place and holds it to her chest like it's a stack of schoolbooks instead of a tiny paperback.

He points at her bed with a large gesture that is obviously meant for the cameras. "Go, get out of here, I have work to do," Stark says, but his eyes are narrowed. "Careful," he whispers. "They won't like to see you resisting."

"Instinct," she lies to him for the second time that day. Her instinct had been to throw herself wholeheartedly into that kiss. She almost had.

After ten minutes Emory realizes her blanket is still over where Stark had taken it from her, but she doesn't venture back into that part of the room. Let the men monitoring their room think he was punishing her.

That's not quite the case, though. She's punishing herself.

8888888888

Emory wakes up covered in the blanket.

She'd had strange dreams, not at all what she'd expected, the night before. None of them stick with her, but she assumes they're based on the chapters of the book she'd read. Emory often feels a kinship with the authors she's reading, understanding and approving of their visions for their stories. Her mother had always said it was a function of her oversized amount of empathy, her loyalty for the intentions of the author- but she doesn't like the world that is described as a utopia in Childhood's End. Though, possibly that is author-intended.

The idea that there would be no religion to divide people, and that bad leaders would be driven mad… both of those things seem like something Yinsen perhaps appreciated about the book. Emory doesn't feel a kinship with any of the characters as she usually does, but that might be because everything in the story feels like she's watching from afar, waiting for something horrible to happen.

As opposed to watching what's happening in our cave, close-up, waiting for something horrible to happen! she thinks to herself.

Though, the horrible thing hadn't happened, thanks to Stark. She still needs to thank him, but Emory's having trouble even looking at him right now. Despite it being the truth, she regrets having essentially dared the man to find someone to kiss so he could appreciate how much more enjoyable it is to do with a person you genuinely care for. She can sense that kissing him is deeply enjoyable, and the implications of that are just too much for her right now.

To evict Stark from her mind, Emory thinks about what Rory might be doing at that moment. Over the past few days she's tried to push those thoughts away, knowing that dwelling on what her friend was going through wouldn't do her anything but cause distress. Days after the kidnapping, though, now that the terrorists know she's not Rory, Emory can't help but wonder how things are going without her.

Rory would undoubtedly be a mess, but was she able to fly home? Or was she lying on a bed in a hotel in Kabul with Hank at her side? Did anyone know to get the rest of her favorite candy out of Emory's luggage? It's kind of freaking her out just picturing how frantic everyone must have been when they realized Emory wouldn't be there to help smooth out Rory's rough edges.

Emory's struck by a horrible realization: she's coddled Rory so much that it's quite possible her friend is doing far worse without her than she would be if Emory been more harsh and truthful with her from the beginning.

Sure, Rory's been selfish and cruel to her for a while now, but how much of that is just a result of letting her stagnate in her own poor behavior, secure in the knowledge that Emory would get her out of any problem? It was just flat-out easier that way. And now look where it's gotten them!

"Fuck," Emory says, pulling her pillow out from under her head and pressing it to her face. It smells terrible; she'd never remembered to put the pillowcase back on it, and Stark had taken it to carry something around with.

"Are you in pain?"

Yinsen's voice is very close, and Emory cringes. "I didn't mean to swear," she apologizes, pulling the pillow back off of her face.

"I'm not offended, do not concern yourself," he reassures her. "You have slept longer than normal, and hearing your epithet, I wanted to be sure you weren't injured."

"I stayed up reading," she admits, sitting up in bed. "I'm to the place where the man who is bored by the utopia described by the book hides inside a model of a whale to travel to the alien overlords' home planet. I can't believe how miserable this utopia has been described, how the overlords imply that humanity would be terrified and dumbstruck by advanced technology! As someone who loves music and artistic expression, I find it very hard to believe that art would narrow if we were given a chance to live in leisure, without the need for hard labor. As a scientist, do you agree? Do you think our more advanced society in 2012 is as prone to being frightened by the knowledge of an advanced alien race?"

The look on Yinsen's face could most accurately be described as bemused. "I am glad you're so engaged by it. I agree that a utopia without violence being one where art and advancement suffers is a confusing one. Though I think the author wanted most to convey the idea that humanity was unhappy and unfulfilled, in preparation for some large leap in understanding, and that was the way he imagined to go about it."

"That makes sense," Emory says. "I usually don't read radically changed society stories, so I don't have a basis for comparison, I guess."

"You don't read them, but you've experienced one, haven't you? Is this not radically different than your regular life?" Yinsen asks.

"Well… I mean, it's temporary, isn't it?" she says, a little shocked at how subtly confrontational the man's question was. She pictures a meme screen, a bright colored background with an attractive font saying something like, 'I didn't ask to be called out like this!'

"Perhaps for you, but the people holding us have a life vastly different from yours, from Stark's. Different enough to be a culture shock, one to the other. When I wasn't in this place, I straddled that line in some ways, as a scientist." He looks down at his clothing and offers her a sad smile. "I had just returned from a conference, my garment bag still hanging by the door. Perhaps this is punishment for being like that young man in the story. My metaphorical flights to the overlord's planet have drawn the anger of the citizens I left behind."

Emory's speechless. "I'm sorry," she offers.

"Me too," he says.

"Thank you for giving me the blanket, by the way."

Yinsen pauses in the process of walking away. "It was mostly Stark. He tripped on the blanket, brought it over to set it beside your bed. You were asleep." He looks over to where Stark is leaning over his worktable, shuffling what looks like a dozen thin sheets of paper. "I told him there is more than one way to protect you than the one he volunteered for."

Before Emory can respond to that, he walks back to the cook fire and stirs the day's meal. There's probably a metaphor for the vast ocean between her overly permissive behavior towards Rory and Stark's barely there approach, but she would probably rather climb into his smelting cup and roast herself before she tried to figure out how to articulate it.

Twenty minutes later, Yinsen calls her over to eat. Stark stays at his table, his ruler and pencil moving like the wind across yet another sheet of paper. He waves off both of their suggestions to eat.

Emory picks up Childhood's End again, but sets it back down in an hour. The main characters have become dissatisfied with their imposed utopia, and have moved to an island designed by someone who wants to resist the Overlords' influence. They're planning to live their lives in defiance of the Overlords who are essentially holding humanity hostage, rejecting their orders to live a different life.

It's just a bit too much for her, given the fact that Stark has made clear he isn't building what he's been ordered to.